


come over

by shortythescreen



Category: Apex Legends (Video Games)
Genre: Abrupt Ending, Alcohol, Blowjobs, Consensual Lack Of Protection, Creampie, Dirty Talk, Dysfunctional Family, F/M, Family Drama, Feelings, Female Reader, Friends With Benefits, Love Confessions, Misuse of Stim, Nipple Play, Octavio's parents are assholes, Oral Sex, References to Spanish memes, Semi-Public Sex, Vaginal Sex, but only vaguely mentioned, i love the fast man ok, reader is an official apex photographer, rich people
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-23
Updated: 2020-04-20
Packaged: 2020-07-11 17:15:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19931635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shortythescreen/pseuds/shortythescreen
Summary: come over?That’s what lights up your phone screen at damn near three in the morning. You roll over, squinting at the bright screen as you grab it from your bedside table. It’s one of the lamest texts you’ve ever gotten. It’s barely a step up from the even more basic ‘u up?’ and you’re half tempted to leave him on read.Octavio can do better than that.





	1. the text

**Author's Note:**

> hi everyone! i'm trash at apex but i'm a slut for all of the legends! guess we'll be starting with some octane smut.  
> reader is female for now because i gotta get better at being vague with Parts and the 'x' at the end of Spanish words lol.

_come over?_

That’s what lights up your phone screen at damn near three in the morning. You roll over, squinting at the bright screen as you grab it from your bedside table. It’s one of the lamest texts you’ve ever gotten. It’s barely a step up from the even more basic ‘u up?’ and you’re half tempted to leave him on read. Octavio can do better than that.

Yet, you scroll through your compilation of gifs and send him one of a woman rolling her eyes. Sure, it’s disdainful but he now knows that you are, in fact, awake.

About three months ago, you were offered a job by Apex, the corporation running the well renowned Apex Games. The offered pay was astronomical in comparison to what you made at your humble little gig as a thorn in a journalist’s side. Room and lodging would be included in the miniature city built just for Champions and the people who made the games happen.

All you had to do was do what you do best. Take pictures.

Every advertisement, webpage, and piece of merchandise is covered with your pictures of the Legends. Those that you take in the studio given to you and those that you take off the clock. Every picture on your camera belongs to Apex, even with your signature scratched at the bottom of all of them.

Because of this, it had taken a select few Legends time to warm up to you. Others, not so much. 

Octavio, better known as Octane, might as well have sat in your lap when you walked in with a camera hanging around your neck.

Though you’re a lot quieter than ‘The Adrenaline Junkie’, you have about as much impulse control as he does. So one night when he’d visited you in your studio a little past business hours, brandishing a bottle of Hennessey Black the size of your head, one thing lead to another and, _well_.

The events of that night lead to you getting texts from Octavio at damn near three in the fucking morning asking you to come over.

_i have a box of wings and a bottle of Smirnoff with ur name on it._

You bite the tip of your tongue. The offer’s tempting.

_and other things, if you can keep up. ;)_

That, even more so.

Against your better judgment, you text him back with words instead of a gif. You’ll be over in ten minutes. If he drinks all the liquor before you get there, you’re leaving. You imagine him cackling at his screen because if you know him at all, and you do, he’s probably polished off at least a quarter of the bottle on his own.

Octavio’s apartment is a five minute walk from yours but you gave yourself an extra five to brush your teeth and find your shoes. The penthouse suites offered to all the Legends is right across the street from your simple one bedroom.

When you first moved in, you thought maybe Apex Corp wanted you to take paparazzi sort of shots of their competitors. They’ve never asked you to and you haven’t bothered to try, so you guess they just gave you what was available.

Whatever. You don’t mind living in earshot of some of the deadliest people in the Outlands. Especially now that you’re fucking one of them.

God, you never thought you’d be in this position. Sure, you’re not fucking blind, most of the Legends are attractive. Bangalore has a smirk that drops panties and a voice that’s a little more gravelly than the average woman. Wraith’s got the prettiest eyes you’ve ever seen, powers or otherwise, and her skin is flawless. Gibraltar could probably defeat half of his opponents by _throwing_ them.

Even those that you can’t see the faces of have appeal – Bloodhound’s shroud of mystery has gained them quite the following online and what Octavio doesn’t show of his face is made up for by his stupid little crop top.

You just… Didn’t anticipate any of them finding you attractive too. Least of all the speedster with a penchant for picking up bad habits. Like fucking the photographer. You run your hand down your face as you exit your house, locking it behind you before jogging across the street to the penthouse suites.

Even if you _had_ toyed with the possibility of warming one of their beds, you certainly didn’t think you’d wind up in Octavio’s. Maybe Elliot, who’s got a reputation for getting around, or Ajay, who’s could crush you with her thighs. Octavio, whose accent and stupid selfies had caught the attention of many Apex fans, was the last legend you expected to end up making your heart do the jitterbug-

It’s not, _you’re_ not, you vehemently remind yourself as you enter the elevator of the Legends’ suites. Absolutely not. No way. You walk down the hallway to Octavio’s door, reminding yourself over and over again you’re most certainly _not_ catching feelings and whatever dance your heart is doing has something to do with the lack of sleep.

Even though that makes no sense, it’s what you tell yourself, because there’s no fucking way you’re into Octavio like that. Not into someone you’re just hooking up with. Not into someone who’s only interested in hooking up.

You knock once on his door and you barely have a chance to step back before Octavio’s tearing it open. His mask is gone and even though you’ve seen his face a million times by now, you still take a moment to breathe him in. He’s got the prettiest green eyes you’ve ever seen, glassy with alcohol, and you notice that he’s in need of a shave, his cheeks tinted dark by pinpricks of facial hair.

“It’s three am,” you tell him.

“Yet here you are, amiga,” he smirks.

“For the booze,” you reply and he snickers, shoving out a plastic cup you hadn’t noticed he was holding. The stench of Smirnoff envelops you and you sigh, snatching it away and shouldering your way into his apartment.

“What are you doing up, anyway?” You ask, flopping on the couch and taking a large enough gulp of your cup to make your nose burn. You squeeze your eyes briefly closed, letting out a little ‘ahh’ as Octavio’s weight sinks the opposite side of the couch.

“Couldn’t stop watching The Flash. But Barry got kinda boring, so I texted you,” he says and you snort, opening one eye to glance at him. You hadn’t even noticed the title glaring at you from the flat screen only a few feet away, the only light in the apartment aside from the stove.

God, he’s so unfairly pretty. He’s resting his tousled head of green hair, the same green as his eyes, in his hand, propped up on the back of the couch. His PLUS ULTRA tattoo peeks out from the three quarter sleeved shirt he’s wearing and you go for your drink, hoping you can excuse the warmth in your chest as Smirnoff.

“Of course you were. You’re so fuckin’ basic.”

“I’m on brand.”

“You’re at home. Alone.”

“Not any _more_.”

You snort, finally beginning to feel that warmth in your chest drip down into your stomach. The easy, fuzziness that comes with being here, with drinking and banter and the promise of something so much sweeter.

“Well, thanks for inviting me,” you say, “now where are those wings?”

As promised, Octavio brings you a takeout box with about thirty wings. With liquor brewing in your stomach, you probably could demolish them, but you’re barely buzzed and still willing to be polite.

It’s the wee hours of the morning, so you’re grateful that each of the Legends have soundproof walls. You and Octavio put on old telenovelas, even though your Spanish is slim to none, and he makes you laugh by describing the scenes to you.

“Oho man, she’s such a bitch. The mother basically just told the son’s lover acompáñame a ver esta triste historia.”

“I don’t speak Spanish, Oc,” you remind him around a mouthful of a wing coated in ranch. 

“Remember how the girl’s parents died when she was six?” He asks and you nod your head, vaguely remembering the shitty graphics acting as flashbacks. “The son’s mother heard that and might as well have said ‘that’s cute’.”

You were right to assume Octavio had already had a hefty serving of alcohol before he’d texted you, as he brings out the bottle when your glass gets low, a little less than half of it gone. He’s got a higher alcohol tolerance than you and it’s obvious the more you two delve into the Smirnoff.

He smirks at you when you whine about the wings getting low, polishing off what must be your twelfth. You’ve officially had enough alcohol to stop being polite and Octavio loops an arm around your shoulder. When had he gotten so close to you on the couch?

“There, there,” he murmurs into your hair, “there will be wings tomorrow, mami.”

“But I want them now,” you complain, only to completely forget your train of thought as you bury your nose in the collar of Octavio’s shirt. “Fuck, you smell good. Do you always smell this good?”

“I smell like liquor,” he snickers, kissing the top of your head and you shudder as he slides his fingers through the small hairs at the base of your neck.

“And soap. What soap do you use? I bet you use Old Spice. Old Spice is so basic but it smells so fucking good,” you ramble, tilting your head just enough so that your lips brush against his collarbone.

“Gracias,” he hums, tilting his head back a smidge. You take this as an invitation and begin placing careful, open mouthed kisses up the length of his neck.

Octavio sighs through his nose, arm around your shoulders sliding down your side to pull you half into his lap. Your teeth scrape his pulse and his grip on you tightens.

“You didn’t say yes or no,” you absently mumble as he grabs a handful of your ass. He squeezes before you pull back just enough to meet those pretty green eyes of his, dark with want.

“Yeah, it’s Old Spice,” he says, then leans in to devour your mouth with his.

Octavio kisses like he moves. Quick, eager, his tongue pushes into your mouth and makes you groan. You haphazardly drape one leg over his, twisting so your chest is flush against his. He bites your lower lip and you whimper, half grinding against his prosthetic legs, cool against your heat.

His free hand sneaks down to grab your other ass cheek, pulling you up to straddle him. His lips leave yours with a pop and he bites his lower lip as you shudder against his dick jumping under your hips.

“We haven’t even started yet,” you say, allowing him to slip his hands beneath your shirt, gripping your breasts and rolling the peaks under his thumbs. You sigh, continuing, “how are you so hard?”

“How are you so sexy?” He snarks, releasing your tits in favor of grabbing the hem of your top. He pulls it off eagerly, eyes hot. 

“You too,” you half beg and he obliges, tugging that snug fitting shirt over his head. You hum, hot with liquor, and with lust, and with the look he’s burning into your chest. He leans back into the couch, drinking in your disheveled state before reaching up to cruelly pinch your nipples.

You gasp, trying to lean into the sensation and alleviate the pain. Octavio only pulls harder, biting his lower lip when you’re almost chest to chest.

“Asshole,” you hiss and he grins, giving you a flash of his tongue piercing.

“You like it,” he says as you relent, going still in his lap. Octavio finally releases his almost too tight grip on one nipple in favor of looping an arm around your waist. He’s torturous to the other, squeezing, rolling, tugging. As a reward for the way you buckled, he slurps the free one into his mouth. You moan, his mouth all wet warmth and cool metal. His thumb flickers teasingly across your other pebbled nipple and you arch your back.

“Oc, please,” you pant and he pulls off of you with a pop, cupping the tit he still has a handle on to flick his tongue across it.

“ _Por favor?_ Por favor que?” He half laughs only to break off in a needy groan when you grind against him. “Fuck fuck fuck, okay, stand up for a sec.”

You roll yourself along his dick for a moment longer, relishing in the way his hips instinctually jerk against yours. He squirms beneath you, opting to tightly grab your hips.

“Shit, mami,” Octavio pants, sharply thrusting up before trying to push you off. “C’mon, c’mon, you’re wearing too many clothes.”

You finally climb off him and he follows you forward, sharply pulling down your sweats. A long, sticky trail connects you briefly to them and he outright groans at how filthy that is.

“You’re so wet,” he all but whines, fascinatedly rubbing a finger between your lips. Your breath hitches as he pointedly drags his knuckle across your clit, teasing you with the not quite enough touch.

“Shorts off,” you growl, and he hurriedly obeys. His cock springs free as his shorts hit the carpet and your mouth waters. The tip is swollen and pink, leaking with excitement. You’re half tempted to get on your knees, swipe the pre up with your tongue and put him at your mercy.

“Oh, mami, yes, you can do that for me later,” he babbles, making you realize you’d said that aloud. You try to climb back into his lap, only to have him grab you by the shoulders. You yelp as he tosses you onto your back on the opposite side of the couch, maneuvering himself between your thighs.

You two have been doing this long enough to have done away with condoms and you’re so fucking grateful for that as he pushes himself between your lips. Your slick helps him along as he glides the tip against your aching, swollen clit.

“Oc,” you impatiently murmur and he smirks. Octavio is a bastard at the worst times and not even the bedroom is exempt, because he grabs his shaft and taps the leaking tip of his cock against your clit.

“How bad do you want it, hm?” He asks and if you weren’t so overwhelmed, you’d roll your eyes. You settle for propping yourself up on your elbows and thrusting your hips up. His cock catches on your hole and his breath hitches in his throat.

“That bad, huh?” Octavio breathlessly whispers and you glare at him through the fog of your lust.

“Aren’t you supposed to be quick?”

“You want it to be over? Aw, okay, guess I’ll-“

Before he can pull away, you wrap your legs around his waist and yank him against you. Octavio slips, caught off guard, and he catches himself on the arm of the couch, letting out a strangled groan as the tip of his dick breeches your swollen cunt.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he grits out, suddenly unconcerned with teasing. He drives himself the rest of the way inside and you sigh, relieved to be so wonderfully full.

“I’m trying,” you gleefully counter and he sharply thrusts into you with a laugh that’s half moan.

You reach around, clawing at his lower back as he fucks into you. His elbow lands on the space next to your neck and you find his hand cupping the crown of your head, simply resting there as he fucks you like he’s trying to win a race.

Octavio moans and curses and whines just as much as you do, his green eyes squeezed shut. You rake your nails up the length of his spine and he groans, giving you an especially brutal thrust. Your mouth falls open and he takes the opportunity to sloppily kiss you, tongue pushing past your lips to twist with yours and he doesn’t taste so much like liquor anymore.

You sob into the kiss as he angles his hips down a little, hitting right _there_. He gets the picture quickly and he aims just so, abusing that place that makes you see stars. His hips snap into yours and you grab his shoulders for purchase. It’s too much. It’s not enough.

It’s him, pulling away from your kiss to watch you with amazed green eyes. It’s him, grabbing your hips and yanking you onto his dick. It’s him, passing a thumb over your clit, making your eyes roll back. It’s him, hissing your name as his hips begin to stutter and shake. It’s _him_.

“C’mon, mami, c’mon, I won’t last,” he gasps, fondling your clit desperately and your jaw drops at the sensation. “C’mon, baby, need it, need to feel that tight pussy squeeze my dick, you can do it, do it for me, please, baby, please-“

You say his name as your orgasm hits you, shaking legs tightening so harshly around his waist you can feel every tremor of his hips. He fucks you through it, relentlessly rubbing your clit and you whimper, reaching down to try and shove his hand away. It doesn’t seem to stop him and finally with two, three more thrusts, he’s coming.

Octavio buries his face in your neck, saying something so low and garbled that you barely pick up that it was in Spanish. You don’t care to ask what he said just yet, too busy catching your breath as you clutch his back. 

“Shit…” He breathes, turning his head to rest his nose against your still racing pulse. Now, though, it’s not just with need, but you don’t tell him that.

“How’s that for keeping up?” You ask and he snickers, slowly pulling out of you. Octavio reaches down, grabbing his shorts and tucking them beneath your hips to catch the spunk dripping out of you.

“I’ll go get a wash cloth,” he says as you paw at the coffee table for the TV remote. You groan at the time it shows you.

“It’s almost seven, you ass! I have to be to work in two hours!”

“Guess I kept you up all night. At least you weren’t bored.”

“I hate you,” you groan, scrubbing your hands over your eyes. Octavio snickers, making his way towards the bathroom.

“Oh, hey, wait,” you say, propping your head up. He stops short, meeting your gaze. “What did you say? I was kinda preoccupied and didn’t hear.”

“Kinda? You wound me,” Octavio says, placing a hand over his heart. You unceremoniously flip him off. “You think I remember what I said while I was nutting, chica?!”

Octavio grins roguishly. You roll your eyes, throwing one of the couch cushions at him. It doesn’t get anywhere close to hitting him and Octavio snickers, bending down to toss it back onto the couch. “Who knows?”

Octavio turns back to the bathroom and his playful expression slackens. His brow scrunches up as he flicks the light on, closing the restroom door behind him and staring disbelievingly into the mirror.

_Te amo_ , he’d gasped into your neck when he was overwhelmed with the smell of you, the feeling of you, the taste of you.


	2. the invitation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Octavio's family is having an event for their donors. He'd really rather not go but you'd make it a lot more bearable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> don't kill me y'all i have the last part written. it's just. fucking huge so i cut it in half. i'll post the next one soon i promiseeee. 
> 
> come hang out with me on tumblr! @shortythescreen

Octavio doesn’t avoid his family.

He doesn’t! He really doesn’t. Seven chances out of ten, he picks up the phone when his mama calls, and if he doesn’t it’s probably because he’s in the arena. Or out. Whatever.

He’s sent his papa text messages during every major holiday he isn’t there for. Not that he isn’t there for a lot of them! He’s hasn’t missed _El Dia de los Reyes_ in. Ever. Even if he didn’t show up for his parents’ New Year’s Eve party days prior. Not that he hadn’t wanted to, he’s just a busy guy. Busy guys don’t have time to go to every social event their billionaire parents host.

That’s what he’s _trying_ to tell his mama.

“ _Mami, I’m busy with the games_ -” he tries, pressing his fingers to his temples, for once grateful that his mama doesn’t know how to operate the video camera function on her tablet. Otherwise, she’d see the twist of his lip as he speaks. He kinda thinks she might still be able to hear it, considering Elliot is skirting him as he walks through the common room, trying to distance himself from the hostility in his voice.

“ _Octavio, ya_.” She bites and the tone of her voice seals his lips shut. Fuck. How’s that even fair? “ _The next game isn’t until Monday. You can be back on planet by Sunday night if you leave tomorrow_.”

“ _Ma_ , _I can’t_ ,” Octavio tries, but his mama cuts him off.

“ _Yes, you can! Octavio Jose, you use Silva Pharmaceuticals for the games. This party is to celebrate all the donors that give us the resources to create the stim_ you _use. You_ will _come to this party, shake hands, jump hoops and do whatever these people want, or we will revoke your supply. Do you understand me?”_

Octavio’s nostrils flare, his leg jiggling as he pushes his teeth against his tongue piercing. The stretch of metal against his muscle is half painful, but he ignores the ache in favor of clenching and unclenching his fists.

“ _Do you hear me_ -”

“ _Yes, ma, I’ll be there, bye._ ” And with that, Octavio taps the pad in front of him, effectively ending the call. He’ll get some messages later about hanging up on her, but he doesn’t care. All he wants to do right now is put his head through the fucking table next to the tablet.

“That, uh, sounded pretty heated,” Elliot says and Octavio snorts, turning pinched green eyes up to his fellow legend. He’s holding out a water bottle, clutching another in his opposite hand, and Octavio snatches it from his hand, not even bothering to grumble a thank you as he guzzles half of it. “Whoa! Easy!”

“I have to go to a party this weekend,” Octavio bites, ignoring the way that Elliot’s lips stitch shut, like his did when mama told him _ya_. Elliot hums, sipping more cautiously at his own water.

“Wow, what a predac- p-perdim- that kinda sounds like a dumb reason to be upset,” Elliot drops the sarcasm as he fumbles over the word and Octavio barks a laugh.

“ _Compadre_ , I wish it was,” he grits, pressing the flat of his palm against his still jiggling knee. It keeps moving. “My parents are hosting some stupid thank you donor thing.”

“That doesn’t sound that bad,” Elliot says, hopping over the edge of the couch to settle beside Octavio. He throws his boots up, resting them on the coffee table in front of him, the slide of the front door accompanied by some more footfalls. “You’ve thanked Silva Pharm on camera before.”

“It’s not the same,” Octavio grunts. Donors _lived_ for Octane. They lived for his thrill seeking and heart stopping shows. They loved his tattoo and his catch phrases and wanted him to keep it up.

His parents didn’t want Octane. They wanted Octavio. And not even the real Octavio – the one they’d always wanted him to be. The one who was content being a dutiful son. The one who didn’t blow off his own legs with a grenade. The one who didn’t renounce his position as the heir to Silva Pharm.

“My mom said she’ll revoke my supply of stim if I don’t go,” he tells Elliot, who sucks in air through his teeth.

“Ooh, yikes. Guess you don’t have a choice, huh?” Elliot says. Octavio grimaces, now sipping at his water, hand still trying to placate his jittering leg.

“No he don’t. He knew that when his mama called,” a voice says and Octavio glances over, catching Ajay at the fridge on the edge of the common room. She’s pulled out a flavorless yogurt and busies herself scraping it into a bowl.

Ajay has been talking to him little by little, but they haven’t talked about the- incident. Of him lying. He lied to her. He regrets it most days. Right now, he really does, because he could really use her advice.

“Maybe it won’t be that bad!” Elliot says and Octavio sniffs, looking down at the coffee table to avoid Ajay’s eyes as she flops onto the couch across from them. She, too, kick her feet up onto the coffee table, slouching into the cushions.

“Maybe,” Octavio says, not moping into his water.

Silence passes between the three long enough for it to begin to feel stiff. Ajay breaks it with a loud sigh, and his eyes turn up, finding her staring at him.

“What?” He asks.

“Do ya parents still need a photographer?” She asks instead of answering him. Octavio blanches, sitting upright, and his leg stops in its insistent shaking, the click of his metal foot ceasing abruptly.

“What?” He asks again and Ajay blusters her lips, stuffing a spoonful of yogurt between her cheeks.

“Ya parents never let you bring a plus one ‘cause you always bring some so’n’so,” Ajay says and before Octavio protests, she continues, “shut up, yes ya do. If they still need a photographer, bring ours. She’s ya friend, right? She’ll make it more bearable, and she’s official, so ya parents won’t say nutin’.”

Octavio swallows, holding Ajay’s stare. She always seems so critical – like she knows what he’s thinking even when he doesn’t think he’s thinking at all. He wonders if she can tell how he’s been around you recently – if she’s noticed how you show up at his house late at night.

“Plus, she’s totally hot,” Elliot remarks and Octavio bristles and, oh yeah, Ajay notices. Her face remains neutral, but she thumps her foot against Elliot, who whines as the coffee table rattles beneath them.

“I’ll think about it,” he mutters, turning back to his water.

* * *

It’s probably a bad idea for Octavio to invite you to his parents’ party.

After his… realization, he’s sort of been avoiding you. Not directly because Octavio doesn’t directly avoid- anything, really. He doesn’t avoid things. He’s not avoiding you. You guys just haven’t had sex since he said _te amo_ into your throat. That’s all.

He’s not totally avoiding you, though. He still sends you shitty memes and you still tell him to let you work. He even brought you lunch the other day because your dumbass forgets to eat. Which is why he’s carrying over some empanadas to your studio.

Apex spared no expense for someone who was going to be key to their marketing. Your studio has vaulted ceilings and the pristine, white walls and tarps are constantly lit by either the natural light of the sun or the way too tall studio lights.

You seem concerned with neither, hunched in front of the triple monitors posed in front of your shooting area. He’s pretty sure that’s a picture of Bloodhound you’re editing.

“Hey,” he says, and you jump, your rolling chair skittering back as you dazedly blink up. Your eyes pinch as you squint, clearly perturbed from looking away from the screen after however long you’d been staring.

“Jesus! Fucking say something next time, Oc, you scared me!” You say and Octavio snickers, lips curling into a devious grin against his will.

“C’mon, amiga, you should’ve heard me coming,” he says, tapping his metal foot on the black tile. You huff, turning back to your computer.

“Shut up. What do you want?” You ask, leaning a little closer to the screen, despite having already zoomed in pretty damn far on Artur. Octavio grabs the chair at your left that you usually reserve for when your bosses come to visit, then flops down. The wheels careen him a little away, but he grabs the edge of your desk and pulls himself up.

“You need to eat, muchacha,” he says, holding up the brown paper bag. You purse your lips, glancing at him from the corner of your eye. Wordlessly, you take the bag from him, then move away from your computer.

You lean back in your seat, kicking your legs up onto his lap. Instinctively, Octavio reaches down, grabbing the edges of your feet to keep them in place on his thighs. He thumbs at the edge of your shoe and his nostrils flare. Damn it.

“Thanks,” you say, the crinkle of the bag the only sound for a little. Octavio rests an elbow on the edge of your desk, turning to look at what you’d been doing to Artur. He can see your notes at the top of the screen, scrawled with some digital pen: _no alterations to the bird – it would be disrespectful to Houn-_

“What’s the matter with you?” You ask, startling Octavio out of his reading. He turns his head to face you, your cheek bulged as you chew.

“What do you mean what’s the matter with me?” He asks back and you roll your eyes, swallowing hard.

“You’re never this quiet,” you say and Octavio huffs, turning to face the screen once again, his leg beginning to bounce in anticipation.

“Fuck off.”

“Fuck you, stop moving.”

“I’m not a fucking—a _fucking_ —joda, what’s that word?”

“What word?”

“You know, for the- for the thing. When you put your feet up. _Reposap_ _íes_.”

“What, like an ottoman?”

“No, fuck. I mean, _yes_ , but that’s not the word I was thinking of.”

“A footrest?”

“ _Eso_! Yes! Fuck you, I’m not a _footrest_.”

You press your lips together and silence passes between you for a moment. Then you snort, shoulders folding in. You raise your brows at him, and he sighs, chuckling through a groan, leaning back in his own seat to drag his hand down his face.

“Kinda lost steam there,” you say, and he squeezes the tips of your toes, half in warning, and you giggle. Your expression softens and you nudge his stomach with the toe of your shoe, tickling at the edge of where a sensor exists in his abdomen. “C’mon, Oc, what’s going on? You can talk to me…”

He knows he can. Octavio has vented to you about lots of things before. He’s vented to you about Anita, back before she started to cut him a little bit of slack. He’s vented to you about his phantom pains, on the days that he wakes up and forgets that he doesn’t really have legs anymore. He’s even vented to you about his parents before – about how his father has never quite accepted the man he’s become and how his mom is like an ice sculpture. Beautiful from a distance, but cold, and quick to melt under heat.

Still, with the… incident, he’s hesitant. He feels like he’s digging himself a deeper hole than he should. But he’s here. On Ajay’s advice. Ajay’s always known what’s best, in a way. At least, it seems that way.

“I have to go to some stupid donor function for Silva Pharmaceuticals or my parents are gonna revoke my stim,” Octavio blurts and he sees your expression soften a little, the edges of your brows drooping, your lips half pursing, and he hates, hates the loud _LUBB-DUPP_ in his ears.

“That fucking sucks,” you tell him and he half snorts.

“Si, I know… But you would make it less sucky,” he says, “you… wanna come? I always have a plus one but my ma doesn’t like when I bring just anybody.”

“And your fuck buddy isn’t just anybody?” You deadpan, raising a brow, and Octavio hums, tugging at the toe of your shoe on his lap.

“You’re a professional photographer,” he reminds you. “It would only be for a night. Less than twelve hours. Fourteen if you include ride time to Psamathe.”

“Oh, Oc…”

“Mami, please? Please. My parents would pay you for the shots. There’s gonna be tons of booze.” He tries.

“Octavio-”

“You don’t even have to talk to anyone but me!” He insists.

“ _Oc_ -”

“I hate these things. We can get a hotel right after and you can ride my face right up until I have to be back for the game-”

“Yes! Yes, Octavio!” You cry, reaching over and grabbing his shoulders, your body bending awkwardly, tummy crinkling the empanada bag in your lap. You shake him a little. “ _Yes_ , I will come with you, Jesus Christ. I was gonna say yes to begin with!”

“Why didn’t you just come out and say that then?” He huffs, though the tension drains out of his shoulders and he smiles at you, lips pulling up further at one corner. His chest expands with breath, like a weight has been lifted. 

“I was _trying_ but you don’t shut the fuck up.” You mutter, shoving his shoulders and he throws his head back, laughing into the vaulted ceiling of your studio.

* * *

The week comes and goes within the blink of an eye and Octavio is… Definitely not ready to go to this stupid event. He’s texted you a little more throughout the week, telling you the kind of attire that’s expected at these dumb functions and reminding you that you don’t have to bring any crazy equipment with you.

He calls mama at the last minute, of course, telling her that he’s bringing on a photographer who expects to be paid in full for her services. She’s huffy about it but mostly seems glad someone will be capturing the event from the perspective of the Silva family – though why she kept his pa’s name after the divorce, he’ll never know. Anyway, it’s not like they can’t afford to pay you.

Octavio wears the black tie he knows his mama will hound him not for wearing but he refuses to put the blazer on. Instead, he’ll just carry it, black fabric hanging off his forearm. The sleeves of his white button up are rolled up to his elbows and even though mama could make a big stink, he’d remind her he could have showed up in what he wore in the games – including the Jade Tiger outfit.

It might have been a little too intimate to pick you up. The thought of knocking on your door at an appropriate hour, of being in his monkey suit and offering you his arm, made this feel more like it was a date and not just a favor. Instead, Octavio ordered you a cab and now, he’s waiting for you just outside the entrance of Ship’s Landing.

He’s tapping away on his phone, playing a racing game that he’s definitely going to beat Makoa’s score in. His tongue pokes out and he leans a little closer, glancing up only when he hears the whistle of vehicles going by, hoping to catch sight of your cab.

It’s in the middle of a jump that requires all his attention, a taxi stops right in front of him and the door opens. Octavio glances up, looking back down at his game, only to stop and look back up again, this time lowering his phone to get a better look.

His heart must be running a relay, must be trying to get a lead with a grenade, because the second he sees you, all he can hear is that loud noise again. Like an explosion of movement through his arteries and veins, his heart desperately trying to pick up with the adrenaline in his system. For once, it isn’t a fight, or an explosion, or a race that causes it, though. It’s you.

It’s you, struggling to get some huge camera tote out of the taxi while in high heels (he told you that you just had to bring a camera, damn it). It’s you, wearing a shade of vermillion that matches the fabric of your dress that hugs your figure. It’s you, with the off the shoulder, sweetheart neckline, and Octavio is surprised he can still recall anything about fashion. He’s kind of kicking himself for it too, because he can’t stop thinking of how much of a sweetheart that cut is, how easy it would be to slide it down your chest.

Octavio’s chest constricts, pupils blown wide as he imagines those heels digging into his ass as he fucks you, the sharp pinch of them spurring him faster, harder. It would be so easy to push you back into the cab, pay the driver a little extra to keep quiet while he shucks the dress up to your hips and sucks on your clit until you’re crying.

You guys should skip this. As a matter of fact, he should pay the cab driver to take you guys home so he can rip that dress off you. So, he doesn’t have to see you glide around in it, taking pictures, laughing and holding glasses of chardonnay at some stupid promotional party he doesn’t give a flying fuck about it.

“Oc?” Your voice snaps him from his reverie and Octavio realizes you’re staring at him, lips pursed, half waving to get his attention. “Can you shut the door?”

“Oh, yeah,” he breathes, moving forward to shut the cab door. “You… look really good.”

“Gee, thanks,” you say, smirking his way, and the rare little dance of mischief that glitters in your eyes makes his heart constrict. Fuck, he’s in so much trouble. This was a bad idea. Why did Ajay tell him to do this?

“We should skip this thing,” he tells you, waggling his brows, and you purse your lips at him.

“And get your stim revoked?” Right. He’d forgotten. Which is saying something, a voice in his head that sounds very much like Che says. He bats her away.

“Shut up, I know,” he mumbles and you two walk towards the ship his mama had ordered to take you to Psamathe. It has the Silva Pharmaceuticals logo on the side and he waves away the driver who stands with his arms folded at the passenger doors.

Octavio opens the trunk, taking your camera tote and laying it down in the backseat. You fuss at him, telling him that you can hold it in your lap and that this extravagant looking ship definitely has the space for you to hold your camera. He waves you off, telling you that you’re going to be in the ship for two hours, and you don’t need to be holding the bag in your lap the whole time.

After that, you two set off, towards his home planet. The ship his ma ordered is, of course, top of the line. The interior is plush, and over cushioned, with a tiny little bar on the opposite side of the long seats. You gaze around in wonder, squinting at the compartment at the top of the ship that he knows contains a disco ball.

“Jeez, your family pulled out all the stops, huh?” You ask and he snorts, scooting towards the edge of the seat and grabbing a bottle of Aguardiente his knows his pa keeps stashed for when he has to ride with ma to events.

“Gotta show up in style,” he mumbles, grabbing one of the little cups stacked on top of a fancy looking cupholder. “Would look bad if I came in just a cab.”

He feels your gaze burning on the side of his face and he holds out the first glass of liquor to you. When he looks in your direction, you shake your head, and Octavio shrugs, taking the first shot with a loud ‘aa’ sound afterwards and a little clench of his teeth. Coño, that shit’s strong.

“You’re really stressed about this,” you conclude, and Octavio turns to look at you again. Your hands rest idly in your lap and your eyes seem to look right through him, finding all the little weak spots, the little internal ticks that made him say that stupid thing into your neck.

“I am,” he says, “you can help me de-stress, if you want, chica.”

He waggles his eyebrows at you, masking his discomfort at how easily you read him with a little laugh. To Octavio’s surprise, you reach over, placing a hand on his thigh, and his eyes meet yours with dark intent.

“Yeah,” you say, then lean in, and kiss him. His heart constricts in his chest and he hate, hate, _hates_ Ajay right now.

At the same time, he loves her. Thinks that he should thank her, should apologize and thank her, because you’re kissing him slowly, lips warming him with every gentle slide. Your chin tucks a little closer to your chest as you bow your head, just enough to catch his lower lip between his teeth. He sighs, squirming at the gentle scrape, the distracting buzz of your hand creeping closer to the space between his thighs.

“If we fuck, can you manage not to get cum on this dress?” You ask him as you pull away and his dick throbs at the thought of fucking you.

“Absolutamente, mami,” he mutters, hands creeping out to grab at your hips. He wants to pull you on top of him, pull whatever panties you’re wearing to the side. Watch his dick disappear inside you. Watch you throw your head back while he pulls down that sweetheart neckline-

“I don’t believe that,” you grumble but you’re pushing him down onto the long seat. Octavio lands with a thump and he’s kind of thankful he doesn’t have much hair. He pushes himself up onto his elbows, watching you make your way down his body. You don’t stop to place gentle kisses on his stomach, or any of that other fluffy bullshit that makes his stomach flutter, and he’s grateful and disappointed all at the same time.

You wrangle his belt open, the button of his pants and his fly following. You only scoot his waistband down enough to reveal his boxer briefs and the choked off sound that leaves him as you fenagle his dick out of the small gap in them is embarrassing.

“Shit, mami, you don’t have to, we can wait,” he says, even though his fingers are already tangling in your hair. Impatient. You smirk up at him.

“I don’t think you can,” you reply, before you drag your tongue up the underside of him. He gasps, like the air has been punched from his lungs, hypersensitive from weeks of having not been touched. You let saliva pool in your mouth, then stick your tongue out, watching it drip down. It makes his dick glisten, slippery with your saliva, and a dark spot forms at the base where he’s poking out of his boxer-briefs.

“Baby,” he whines and now his hand has tightened, trying desperately to push you where he wants you. Your licks and kisses are good, but not enough, not for how hard he is, for how he wants to fuck into your throat.

You only smirk, dragging the flat of your tongue up, the tip of it flicking just beneath the head. His hips jerk at the sensation and he rolls his neck back with a little groan. Octavio is always so vocal, so willing to tell you what he wants and what he doesn’t. Right now, what he wants is for you to take it, suck his dick until his eyes cross and he cums down your throat.

“I’m working on it,” you reply, and he definitely hadn’t realized he said that out loud. Oh well. You finally, finally, _gracias a Dios_ , take the tip of him into your mouth. You place your puckered lips over the very tip, tongue poking the salty slit, and Octavio’s mouth falls open. Yours does a moment later and your cheeks hollow as you make your down the length of him.

“ _Puuuuta_ madre! Baby! Fuck!” Octavio gasps and he’s thankful to be riding in such a large ship because he’s certain if he kept it up, the driver would definitely know what was going on. He also kind of doesn’t give a fuck, hips trembling with the effort to not fuck your throat. You bob your head up and down, tongue glued to the hard length of him, and fuck, your eyes are closed, like you’re _enjoying_ this. 

You have the audacity, in all of this, to drag the tip of your finger around the base of him. He’s so close to being fully buried inside you. You push yourself, making wet noises that go straight to his dick as your lips finally touch the opening of his underwear. Then, the tip of your wet finger prods his rosebud, and that’s all it takes for Octavio to cum.

Toe curling, jaw dropping orgasm. That’s all he can think of when you finally get him to cum, the mere tease of your finger inside somewhere so intimate making his thighs clench. He shudders out, fist clenched tightly in your hair, trying to keep you down and still respect if you need to come up for air, but, coño, do you make it hard to keep that split train of thought going. He feels you swallow, throat folding around his cock, and the motion itself makes him whimper, for once overstimmed.

You slowly pull away, lips swollen and wet and red, sitting back on your knees with a shit eating grin. Octavio is catching his breath, trying desperately to slow his racing heart which, for once, isn’t caused by stim stabbed into his thigh. You gently massage his thighs and, Jesus, he really wishes you wouldn’t _do_ shit like that.

“You good?” You murmur and the husky edge of your voice makes his spine tingle. He nods, slowing his breath to normal.

“I forgot how good you are at giving head,” he tells you and you snort as he looks around. When he doesn’t spy a handtowel, or something that isn’t a napkin that won’t stick to his dick, he gives up, tucking it away with your drool still on it. He adjusts his fly, slowly sitting up, muscles more relaxed than they’ve been in the week since he’d gotten that phone call.

“I expect you to return the favor on the flight home,” you say and he grins, for the moment distracted from the impending doom of his parents.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> honestly, i'm super nervous about this not living up to the hype of chapter 1! i hope you all like it <3


	3. the party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You and Octavio arrive on Psamathe for the Silvas party. Things go... Better than you expect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> last chapter!!! thank you all so much for reading come over. i've had so much fun writing it and i hope you guys have had fun reading it! 
> 
> most italicized conversations between octavio and his parents are in spanish but i was too late to write and translate all that.

The rest of your ride to Psamathe is smooth. You and Octavio sip at that Aguardiente but about a half an hour before you two are due to arrive, you make him put it away. He protests, trying to tell you that in order to deal with his parents, you were going to need to be at least kind of buzzed. You two stash the drink anyway, drinking water all the way over, and Octavio eyes you up in the silence that follows. 

Octavio probably could’ve given you head right after you finished with him but you were insistent about not looking sex ruffled – which would be a lot harder to hide with your hair fucked up, and that dress you’re wearing.

_This is technically a job for you._ He bats the thought away, trying to tell himself you came out as a friend. As your ship lands, though, and you lug your giant camera tote he told you that you didn’t need to bring out of the ship…

It’s not discouraging. There’s nothing to be discouraged about.

Which is what Octavio tells himself as you two approach his childhood home.

You react like most people do to the sight of where he grew up: your jaw drops, your eyes widen, and you take the time to look the manor up and down. Ma always complained she’d wanted a bigger mansion. Considering she and Pa had only had him, that had never made a lot of sense to Octavio. Their room was empty most of the time, let alone all the other ones that he or the housekeepers didn’t occupy.

“Holy shit,” you mumble to him and he offers you the crook of his elbow. You turn your head to look at him and blanch. Octavio stares at you, foot beginning to tap impatiently. “What are you doing?”

“Offering you my arm. You’re my plus one. This is what rich people do, amiga,” he tells you. He distinctly leaves out the fact that he had etiquette training from the time he could walk until he was thirteen and purposefully jumped off the top of the stairs mid-lesson. His arm was broken, and he was in a sling which meant he didn’t have to go through which spoon was the right one again.

“I forget you’re a rich person,” you say.

“Makes one of us. Take the arm, mami, c’mon, let’s get this over with.”

You raise an eyebrow at him but slide your hand into the crook of his elbow anyway. You two stroll up to the way too big, double doors of the mansion and a large man Octavio doesn’t recognize opens one of them.

Inside the foyer, there’s a line of men in black suits, clearly some kind of security detail. Your heels click across the porcelain floors and when he chances a sideways glance at you, he sees that you’re unable to flush your face of the awe written across it – the vaulted ceilings and the crystal chandelier glittering in your eyes. You turn your head, looking up at the portrait of him, and ma, and pa, and he tugs your arm a little closer, trying to take your attention off of the grim looking little boy he didn’t see himself in. 

He turns his gaze ahead and instantly his arms tense. Mami stands in the threshold of the ballroom, eyes stabbing through his. 

Last he’d seen her, she’d had the beginnings of grays at her temples. Predictably, she’s dyed it back to its original brown, and stands with her back poised straight, hands folded in front of her. When you two are close enough, her pinkened lips pull upwards, into a smile that shows her teeth but doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

“Mijito,” she says, opening her arms. She wraps them around him, and they press their cheeks together in a brief kiss. “This is your photographer?”

“Si mami,” he murmurs, using the hand you don’t have captive to gesture your way. He tells Mami your name and how every piece of media that’s come out of Apex’s headquarters has been yours. “She’s incredible at what she does.”

“I should hope so. We expect nothing but the best,” says Mami.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Silva,” you say, offering your hand out. Mami’s smile doesn’t fade but if it didn’t reach her eyes before, it definitely doesn’t now, anger flaring in them.

“ _Ms_. Silva, cariña,” croons Mami, and Octavio cringes away from the way her voices oozes, thickened by sweetness she doesn’t truly have. “I divorced from Octavio’s father a long time ago.”

“Oh, I-” you begin, probably going to apologize for information he hadn’t given you. Octavio doesn’t want you to do that. As a matter of fact, he kind of wants his mom to apologize for looking at you so coldly when she hadn’t publicized her and Pa’s divorce to begin with. Octavio jumps in, cutting you off.

“She didn’t know, ma, back off,” he bites. Ma’s blazing eyes turn on him and he glares back. Before she can say more, Octavio is hauling you into the ballroom.

“ _She can set up in the corner, near the bay windows!_ ” Ma calls after him in Spanish and Octavio’s nostrils flare. He doesn’t feel like playing translator for someone who speaks English just fine tonight, but he has a feeling she’s going to rope him back in, make him play the dutiful son just for talking back. The bar’s already set up and kitchen staff are putting out a long buffet table of food. In the corner that Ma said you could set up in, there’s a long drape rolled out with Silva Pharms logo all over it – in bright, stim green.

“Oc,” you say, catching his attention as you two pull up to where you’ll be stationed for a majority of the evening. The hand on the inside of his elbow squeezes and he turns his head to look at you, at the little furrow between your brows, at your other hand moving around to squeeze his. “Hey, it’s okay. Some people don’t like to even think about being married to someone they divorced. I get that.”

“You don’t know her like I do,” mutters Octavio. “She was a lot meaner than she seemed.”

“Well, I didn’t notice. So, it’s fine,” you say. Your hand encompasses his and he watches your tote fall to the crook of your elbow instead of your shoulder. You don’t try to adjust it though, focused on him, and that makes his shoulder relax as much as it makes his pulse rapid. “It’s okay, Oc, seriously. We just got here. No one’s here yet. Help me set up and then we’ll grab some food before your parents’ guests arrive, okay?”

That… Sounds like a good plan. Octavio tries to shake the nervous energy from his limbs, remind himself that at least you’re here, but he can’t quite get rid of it. He feels like a dog backed into a corner by handlers with sticks but instead of beating him, none of them are moving.

To take his mind off it, he rapidly puts together your camera. You scold him several times, reminding him to be careful with your equipment.

“Octavio, you have to screw that in, not push it-”

“I knew that!”

“You did not!”

Octavio only cackles when you tell him the right way to set up your camera, but he _does_ do it the way you tell him to. Once your camera is put together and placed on its little trifold, you and Octavio meander over to the buffet.

Whoever Ma hired to cater (because Ma always does all the organizing for these things; Pa just shows up) likes colorful dishes, bright blue and reds staring up at you two. There’s some leviathan meat in the corner that Octavio will definitely getting his hands on before the night is over, cooked medium rare with some kind of garlic and herb butter spread over it, the juice pooling in the plate beneath. More important than that though is finding the chicharron that Octavio knows is here.

It only takes him a minute to pull up the rind, with large, square knots of pork along it. He grins at you, coming closer, the meat recklessly flopping with every step.

“You gotta try this,” he says as you bend over the other edge, eyeballing what he’s pretty sure is some kind of cheesecake, placed just beneath the chocolate fountain. You twist around with an empty plate, hovering it just beneath the chicharron before it can drip onto the floor.

“You need a plate,” you reply and Octavio snickers. Despite your words, you lean in, biting the edge of one of the protruding cubes of pork. You sigh at the taste and Octavio grins, showing all his teeth. “Holy shit.”

“Yeah, baby!”

You and Octavio eat before the guests arrive and as people begin to filter into the ballroom, you take your place at the corner where you’ll be taking pictures. Octavio isn’t too far away, pacing the big, empty space just beside the tarp with all the Silva Pharm logos. He doesn’t even realize he’s doing it until someone he doesn’t recognize comes up to him, laughing about how Octane can never sit still, huh?

Octavio smiles, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes as he agrees. That’s one of the things he’s always hated about these stupid fundraisers or events or whatever the hell this thing is. He usually doesn’t know half the people there, or even a quarter, and they all walk up to him like they know him. Even more so now that he’s made Octane.

“Octavio,” someone says, and he glances up to see his Ma fast approaching. She doesn’t look angry, though. Maybe a little annoyed but Octavio has learned that she always looks like that, one side of her mouth pulled up a little further than the other, brows low on her face. At least, she always looks that way around him. “Come and say hello, the photographer isn’t going anywhere.”

Octavio sputters, though Ma places her hand on the inside of his elbow and without thinking, Octavio bends his arm to meet her. Octavio doesn’t think a lot anyway, but it feels like a low blow to use you to make his brain work a little less. He glances back at you, standing with your back straight, waiting for someone to come get their photo op. You smile at him. He smirks back.

It makes sense that mostly old people invest in a pharmaceutical company but that doesn’t mean Octavio doesn’t find them totally, completely _boring_. They talk about things like their most recent vacations, or something silly their butlers did, and Ma laughs along, placing a hand over her chest as though these stories are the funniest things she’s ever heard.

Maybe they are. Octavio wouldn’t know. He stopped finding the staff’s misfortune funny around the time Señora Luz told Pa she was pregnant, and she suddenly didn’t have a job anymore. He wasn’t allowed to open the door for her either. 

Ajay’s parents approach and Mami greets them warmly, pulling them into big hugs and giving them kisses on each cheek. On principle alone, Octavio is a little less familiar, waving their way, and they all laugh about how they’d never known him to be shy.

They didn’t know the first thing about him anyway.

“Oh, but where is his blazer?” Ajay’s mom asks and Octavio grunts. Ma turns her cold eyes back to him, calculatingly sizing him up. She must not have noticed when he walked in that he wasn’t wearing one. He’d almost gotten away with it, too.

“It’s so hot in here, don’t you think?” Ma smoothly covers and Octavio taps his fingers soundlessly against his thigh. He’ll hear about it later.

Octavio finds himself getting restless. His fingers itch and his toes curl in his overpriced shoes. He wants to run. Maybe even turn and jump out the bay window. Or go out back and see if Ma still has horses on this property or if she finally got sick of the memories of Pa in these halls.

He glances your way, finding you hunched over your camera. The couple at the other end of it smiles and you snap three shots, back to back. He wouldn’t be able to tell the difference between them, but you’d know if the angles were different, or if one had flash and another didn’t. When they walk off, you stand upright and catch his eye.

Your wink sends a powerful burst of something through his chest. It makes his blood pump faster but also makes his shoulders relax and fuck. He’s so, totally fucked. You’re the one thing keeping him from doing something stupid. Which means he’s fucked.

“Mijo,” he hears, though this time it isn’t Ma, and Octavio curses to himself. Yeah. He’s fucked.

He turns, not bothering to paste on a smile. If nothing else, amongst themselves, the Silva’s aren’t fake. Ma is busy with the Ches and a group of people that like to laugh at other people’s expense. Octavio hasn’t seen his Pa in awhile but he looks just like Octavio remembers – his thick eyebrows are trimmed, arched like he’d spent way too much time having someone do them, his dark hair graying at the edges. Unlike Ma, he doesn’t dye it though, claiming the silver makes him look more refined, that his most recent wife likes him gray. He’s surprised she’s not clinging to his arm, in something way too tight and tiny that would piss Ma off if she saw it.

“Where’s Gloria?” Is the first thing that comes out of his mouth. Gloria’s young, grossly so, closer to Octavio in age than Pa. She’s nice, though, and last Octavio heard, she and Pa’s marriage was going swimmingly.

“Who knows?” Pa asks back and Octavio subtly rolls his eyes. Leave it to Pa not to know where his wife is. He doesn’t outright berate her though, which means they must still be together, so she’s somewhere around here. Octavio should say hi. He’d be happier to see her than Pa, or Ma. “You look nice tonight, hijo. Thank you for bringing a photographer – you know your Mama won’t let anyone I hire work.”

Octavio does not know that and doesn’t really care to, but he nods along anyway. His eyes keep flickering over to you, eager to go make stupid faces in the background of your pictures or tickle your sides so that you lose focus.

“Ah, I see,” Papa says. Irritated, Octavio turns his gaze back to him.

“You see what?” He asks.

“You’re fucking her?” Papa asks and Octavio feels his shoulders jump up to his ears. His whole body braces, like he’s about to jam stim into his thigh, like he’s about to take off in the middle of a firefight.

“What the fuck, papa?” He hisses back, not even realizing they’ve switched to Spanish until a second after he’s speaking it. “ _Why would you ask me something like that?_ ”

“ _C’mon, son, you wouldn’t be the first one to fuck the help,_ ” sniffs Papa, and the way he says help makes Octavio bristle all over. “ _It’s okay. She’s cute!_ ”

“ _That’s none of your business_ ,” seethes Octavio, practically baring his teeth. “ _Don’t compare her to Luz. This is different._ ”

“ _Luz? I wasn’t talking about Luz_ ,” says Papa. Then, his eyes narrow, and he looks a little bit more hostile, stepping into Octavio’s space. “ _What do you mean different? Octavio, did you get her pregnant? You know we can’t afford that kind of a scandal-_ ”

“Oc!” You suddenly chime from his right and he and Papa both jump. He spins to face you and you look at him, bug eyed, hands risen like you’re trying to declare a cease fire. “-Tane. Octane. Buddy. Some people are asking you for a photo-op… Am I, uh, interrupting something?”

“No, no, not at all, sweetheart,” Papa says, moving forward to introduce himself. Somehow, it’s worse than Mami not doing it at all, especially with the sweet smile you give him as you shake hands. “Go, Octane. The people want you. Here, take a vial with you, get into character.”

Pa hands him a vial of stim and Octavio’s fingers close tightly around it, knuckles white with frustration. You jam your hand into the crook of Octavio’s arm and drag him away. He’s still fuming, hot all over with his rage, and you move a little closer to him as you guys stroll across the ballroom.

“You okay? That looked kind of heated,” you say, and Octavio looks down at you, doing his best not to fixate all that fury on you.

“Yeah, yeah, it’s-it’s fine- did someone really want a photo-op or did you just sneak me out?” He asks, realizing that you must’ve seen that something was going on between he and his papa. The sheepish smile that tugs your lips confirms it. Octavio laughs, trying not to bend at the waist so he can keep walking. “Bad girl.”

“Sorry,” you say, but Octavio kind of wants to kiss you for it, “but I can keep you for a little while with that photo-op thing. These people won’t turn it down.”

Okay, yeah, Octavio really wants to kiss you. Not only did you save him from an exchange with pa (about you, but he pushes that part to the back of his mind), you’re now offering to keep him from him indefinitely.

“You’re the best,” murmurs Octavio. His lips barely brush your ear and he doesn’t miss the little stutter of your breath. Oh yeah. He’s definitely going to repay you for earlier on the ride back to the Apex City.

Octavio lines up and that really seems to get people wanting to come over for pictures. Two old men he doesn’t recognize give him a cigar and he wedges it and the stim vial between his teeth, pointing at the camera with two of them. When a woman walks up, he dips her low, cackling while she swoons. More people come and Octavio makes stupid faces at the camera, even getting one old timer to throw up horns with him. You make the shoot fun and for once, he thinks he might have to pat Ajay on the back. Or apologize for lying. Maybe both.

“Mijito,” Octavio hears in the middle of another picture with two women. One has her hands on his chest, her leg swept up, and the other presses against his back while he holds up his arms in some silly superman pose. He peers over the head of the one in front of him, seeing not only Mami, but Pa standing at the very edge of the tarp. Fuck.

The picture’s taken and you lift yourself from behind the camera, glancing between him and his parents. He shoos away the two women, who thank him for the time and then swarm you to get a look at the picture. You fumble with your camera, clearly preoccupied with making sure his mami doesn’t bite his head off. With no other option, your gaze turns to the photos, and Octavio tries his best to keep his chin held high as he walks over to his parents.

“Your papa has told me something interesting,” says Mami first. Octavio’s jaw clenches and whatever tension he’d been accumulating earlier returns full force. The urge to run or fight hits him hard but he stands his ground. “ _Is that photographer pregnant?”_

“ _No_ ,” groans Octavio, reaching up to scrub at his face. “ _God, what is wrong with you two? Why is it if I look at someone you have to tell me to not get them pregnant? Or assume I will?_ ”

“ _You haven’t been responsible with anything else. Why would we expect you to be responsible with sex?_ ” Mami demands. If he weren’t already seething, Octavio might be embarrassed at this conversation. He is, though.

“ _I was responsible with Navi. And with every other pet you got me. And with my stim. I’m here, aren’t I?_ ” He growls out and Mami holds up a finger instantly, drawing a little closer to try and hide the look she’s giving him.

“ _Don’t speak to your mother that way_.” Pa says and Octavio whips his head to look at him, instead of his mother’s icy glare.

“ _What way? I’m just telling her the truth. I’m here when I didn’t want to be. I brought you guys a photographer_ ,” growls Octavio.

“ _For no one else’s benefit but your own,_ ” hisses Mami, “ _I should’ve known you wouldn’t do something like this without an ulterior motive. Does she have something on you Octavio? Is that why you brought her here?_ ”

“ _No! She’s a good photographer and I needed someone other than you two here!_ ” Octavio snaps, the words rolling off like venom and Mami’s chin tilts down, eyes flashing.

“ _Oh, of course, bringing a chew toy to a PR event must make you feel so much better,_ ” Mami scoffs. He reaches up, pushing a hand through his brightly colored mohawk, nostrils flaring.

“ _Don’t talk about her like that_ ,”

“ _I’ll talk about whoever I want however I want, and-_ ”

“ _Not her!_ ”

“ _God, you are just like your father, Octavio. We cannot afford to have you in trouble with the Games, and certainly not for some-_ ”

“ _Ma, I’m not doing this with you. I’m here, I’m promoting Silva, and unless you want me to leave, you will not speak about her the way I know you were just about to. You will_ not _._ ” Octavio outright barks and this seems to draw the attention of those strolling by them. Mami’s face slackens, her eyes flashing. In them, in the clench of her jaw, the curl of her fist, he sees something. Something like recognition.

He doesn’t care, too busy fuming about the fact they’re even having this stupid fucking argument. Octavio barely notices Pa, standing off to the side, looking as useless as he always does when he and Mami argue, or the short, porky man that hurries up to Mami’s left. 

“Excuse me, Señora Silva,” the butler says, cutting their staring contest short. “There’s something requiring your attention in the kitchen. A wine shipment hasn’t arrived?”

“ _Hijo de gran puta_ ,” snarls Mami, throwing her hands up. She turns away from his glower and it feels good to have won one of those standoffs. Even if it was technically a foul. Mami stomps into the distance and that leaves Octavio and Pa.

“Son, you know it’s not a good idea to-” begins Pa, but Octavio doesn’t let him finish. He hates when he does things that remind him of Mami but he turns away from him anyway, looking out at the rest of the ballroom as though he’d just gotten into an argument with everyone in it. He wants to run. He wants to jam the stim into his thigh and carry himself all the way back to the ship port, maybe roll in some mud to get this stupid crisp button up dirty. He wants to-

“Hey,” your voice chimes gently. He feels your fingers on his cheek and you turn his head, making him look at you. Your face is soft, and vulnerable, and open, and he’s so _fucked_. “C’mon. Show me to the bathroom.”

Octavio snorts. He offers you his elbow, but you don’t take it, instead interlocking your fingers and pulling him towards the exit. He notices your camera is still set up on the way out, but you’ve draped something over it to signify your booth is closed for a little while. Realizing he’s supposed to be taking you somewhere, Octavio pulls you up the stairs, down the hall, and into one of the many rooms of his childhood.

Being the son of preoccupied billionaires with too much on their plates to bother handling a rambunctious little boy, Octavio had a lot of rooms growing up. He had a game room, and a homework room (which was supposed to function as an office, when he got old enough to take over some of Silva Pharms mountains of paperwork). This room was always his favorite though. He slept in it most nights and even when he moved out, he hadn’t changed anything about it.

The full-sized mattress in the corner has racecar sheets. Octavio can’t drive for shit, but he always liked to watch old movies when it was common for everyone to use cars. The noises of engines rumbling with motor oil, of rubber on pavement… When he was a little boy, he told Luz he wanted to be a race car driver when he grew up. She laughed but on every holiday from then on out, she bought him a model race car.

All of them are lined up on the very top of a shelf, which has a bright red racing strip painted down the side. He’s got posters of old Nascar drivers on the wall, people who have been dead for centuries but who got to do super cool, fun things. Who sometimes even wrecked their cars.

“Hope you didn’t actually need the bathroom,” mutters Octavio, locking the bedroom door.

“What if I did?” You ask. He looks over his shoulder at you, checking to see if you’re serious, only to see you lounging on the edge of his mattress, peering around the room.

“Your room’s really cute,” you say, and Octavio snorts as he joins you, collapsing onto his old bed. It was way too big for him as a little kid, and even now as a young man, his slight frame doesn’t take up much of the larger beds offered to him. “Who even likes cars anymore? No one drives them.”

“We have a Bugatti in the garage.”

“Of course you do.” You two sit in silence for a while, the sounds of the party downstairs just barely reaching you. “So… you wanna talk about it?”

Not really. Talking about it means telling you what it was that got him and his parents into an argument in the first place. “My parents are just… The worst.”

“I got that.” You say. He glances your way, appraising you, and you hold your hands up. “Hey, we call them like we see them here.”

“They just, um.” Octavio frowns. Should he tell you? He feels like he shouldn’t. “My dad kind of saw me looking at you and asked if we were fucking.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

Neither of you says anything, unsure of how to proceed. Octavio’s knee begins to jiggle, and he huffs out a big breath, dragging a hand down his face.

“I told him it was none of his business, so I guess he decided to tell my mom. Which was… What that was about,” explains Octavio, waving his hand noncommittally. “They thought you were pregnant.”

“Ouch,” you say, and Octavio giggles. He peers over at you and you’re smiling, eyes soft, shining in the low light from his stupid race car lamp. Your make up has smudged a little, the vermillion on your lips mostly gone after you two had your share of food. Yet he can still see the remnants of it, especially as he sees the little upwards curve of your lips.

Fuck.

Without thinking, Octavio reaches up, hand cupping the back of your neck so he can haul you into a kiss, trying to take the remnants of that pretty red you’d been wearing. You go willingly, matching his vigor, his speed, and that’s one of the things he loves about you. One of the things that’s been driving him crazy, keeping him up until ungodly hours as he tries to figure how someone could affect him this way. You always keep up, even if you’re not ready to run into the line of fire.

You rest your hand on his chest, tilting your head, and Octavio instantly wedges his tongue between your lips. You part them readily and you still kind of taste like whatever chocolatey something or other you’d gotten your hands on earlier. His other hand settles on your hip, and he wants to pull you on top so badly, wants you to scream so loudly that they know what’s going on downstairs. He wants you to look at him like you just were but maybe forever.

He wants to tell you. He wants to tell you what he said to you that night, what’s had him so bugged out. The thought alone feels like a rush.

You pull away from him pressing kisses across the taut flesh of his jaw. He sighs, head moving away, and your teeth clink against the black studs he has in his ear lobes. His blood pumps in his veins, the hand on your neck gliding down the length of your spine.

“Te adoro,” he murmurs between kisses. You pause, pulling away to meet his eyes. Your hair tickles his cheeks and he reaches up, tucking it behind your ear. “Eres en mi vida todo mi tesoro.”

“What?”

“Quiero decirte. Pero tengo miedo,” continues Octavio, fingers slipping into your hair. He tugs you down, catching your lower lip between his teeth, and you shudder in his grasp. You’re half on top of him, your body hot, your mouth swollen, and he _wants_. “No quiero perderte.”

“Oc, I don’t understand,” you breathe. Rather than telling you, though, he kisses you hard, lips moving across yours, and you melt into his arms.

“ _Jesús_ ,” groans Octavio as his hand slides beneath the high cut on the side of your dress. He grabs at your panties, trying to yank them down your thighs. The twist of your torso to lean over him makes it hard. “Get those things off.”

“What did you say?” You huff out, though you obediently rise, dragging your panties down.

Rather than answering you, Octavio grabs you by the waist, pulling you back on top of him. He doesn’t stop you at his cock, though, half hard and tightening his pants. Instead, he helps you up, hooking your legs beneath his shoulders, your thighs on either side of his head and you whine, burying your fingers into his soft hair as you realize what he’s doing. 

His hands travel up your naked thighs, to your ass, gripping it tightly. He looks up at you, at the dark look in your eyes as you pull the fabric of your dress aside, spreading your legs wider, clit even closer to his mouth. He huffs a breath against your cunt, damp but not wet, and his cock demands that he rectifies that right now.

With no further warning, Octavio’s mouth finds the shape of your cunt, molding against it, wetly kissing the pretty pink flesh. You quietly gasp, fingers wrinkling your dress, and he swipes at your slit with gentle flicks of his tongue, letting the musky taste of you linger on his lips.

That doesn’t feel right, though, not for the urgency at which he feels the need to move, so he flattens his tongue, sliding it through your slickening folds and up to your clit, slowly peeking out. The minute he feels it, firm and juicy and wet beneath his tongue, he sucks it between his lips.

The unhinged moan you let out is only emphasized by how you tighten your grip on his hair. You try to spread your legs further and Octavio fingers dig into the pillowy flesh of your ass. Octavio helps you fuck your clit against his tongue, using his grip to make you grind against him, and the moan that leaves you sends a painful jolt to his dick.

His eyes flutter briefly open and if he wasn’t hard before, he is now, _Dios_. Your hair frames your warmed face beautifully, mouth open to heave in desperate little pants. Your clit is needy, twitching against his tongue, and your hands are fisted into the fabric of your dress, partly for leverage and partly to give him access to you.

His tongue slips down to your hole, the tip of it pushing, pressing it apart to gather up even more of your taste. You shudder above him, trying to roll your hips forward, and Octavio quickly takes the hint. His tongue moves back up to your clit, flicking back and forth, moving swiftly, and he feels your thighs tense, ass cheeks clenching in his hands.

“Oh, Oc, don’t stop,” you whimper, and he sucks as you thrust forward, uncaring of the way his chin drips with you. He’s going to smell like pussy. “God, right there, right there, Octavio, yes, _yes_ , yesyesyes-”

You cum with a noiseless gush and Octavio groans at the sensation of your juice trailing down his chin. He doesn’t care that you slacken in his grip, that he’s momentarily suffocated by your cunt, just wants you to grind against his face as much as you can, try to ride out that orgasm you just had. You shudder, pushing at his head. Octavio pulls away, letting you scoot back down the length of him. The second he can reach you he kisses you, open mouthed and dirty, letting you taste the salty cum on his lips.

“Fuck.”

“Si, I’m trying,” he says, pressing your hips against his slacks. The noise that leaves you is half laugh, half moan, your clit hypersensitive against the fabric. “If that’s okay with you?”

“Yes,” you say, “please, yes. Yes, let’s fuck.”

“Yes, good, okay,” Octavio babbles. He taps your ass with two fingers. As you roll off, he undoes his belt, tossing it to the side. He unzips his pants, thumbs hooking into the waistband, only to find you reaching down to help him. He raises his eyebrows up at you and you smirk, seemingly having caught your second wind. “Si?”

“Si?” You taunt, reaching down to tug his pants down. You only pull them just enough that his cock can spring out, erect from eating you out, and you sigh at the sight of it.

He grins, trying to scoot his pants down a little more, only to pause at the sensation of something cool in his pocket. You climb on top of him, parting your dress again, and he watches you carefully.

With one hand, Octavio rolls that sweetheart neckline down your shoulders, to your elbows. It puts you in an odd position, unable to move your hands, but your tits fall out and, fuck, if that isn’t the sexiest shit he’s seen.

“I’m gonna ride you.”

“Oh, I thought you were sleeping.”

You snort. Unable to move your arms, your dress caught around your biceps, Octavio has to reach down to position his dick beneath your wet cunt. It opens beautifully for him as he drags the blunt tip along your lips, drenched with your earlier orgasm, and when it bumps your clit you jolt. Finally, gratefully, he finds your hole, and without further teasing, you sink all the way down onto him.

Your mouth falls open and you both groan in unison. Octavio’s thighs clench, trembling, because it’s only been a few hours since he’s cum and he’s not sure how much it will take for him to do it again. You feel so good, though, your pussy pulling him in.

“God, Oc,” you groan, falling forward, and your hands find purchase on his firm abdomen, tits squishing together as your index fingers touch. Before he can say something back, you’re moving, breasts jiggling with every bounce of your hips.

“Fuck, you’re so hot,” he whines, tips of his fingers digging into your thigh, and he’s pretty sure you can feel his pulse thumping through his dick. He bucks up into you, making your tits bounce harder, and you gasp as the tip of his cock thumps against something that feels different than the rest. “God, there?”

“There,” you moan back. As your eyes flutter shut, he slowly, carefully, pulls the neon green vial from his pocket. You’re lost in your own bliss, only sliding halfway up his cock. He waits, waits for your eyes to flutter open and when you finally look at him again, eyes heady and dark with lust, he jams the stim into his thighs.

Your jaw falls open, eyes widening as his veins bulge green, eyes brightening. He grins, wolfish, heart pounding. In the games, the stim makes him want to run, to shoot something. Now, all it does is make him eager to fuck you harder, faster, _faster, faster_.

The vial rolls out of his hand and he seizes your hips, holding you in place. You whine, desperate and he’s quick to oblige you. He thrusts up, cock disappearing and reappearing in a blur, tirelessly fucking you from the bottom, his thighs tensing at the tight squeeze of your walls on his cock.

The soft hair around his cock is already slick with you, worsening as he fucked into you with all the energy he saves for the ring, saves for when he’s Octane. Your chin drops against your chest, and he devours you with his eyes. He catches the way your teeth sink painfully into your lower lip and something primal comes over him, an animalism for your noises to overpower the ones from the party downstairs.

One of his hands shoots to your stomach, thumb blurring down to your clit. He fondles the hard, wet nub, and groans at the sensation of your pussy muscles clenching hard around his throbbing cock.

You borderline scream, trying your best to smother it with a scramble of your hand. It doesn’t help, the noise choppy with every powerful thrust of his hips into your cherry red cunt.

“Oh! Octavio! Oc!” You cry, the fingers of your opposite hand digging into his button up, grasping for purchase. He doesn’t know whether you lose your balance or just can’t keep yourself upright, but you plummet into his chest. He doesn’t flinch, just uses the angle to fuck you down the length of him, panting into your ear. Your pussy makes wet noises as he pounds you down onto his cock, tongue flickering out over your ear.

“What did you say?” You suddenly whine. It startles him and his rhythm stutters with his surprise, breath hitching in his throat. He holds it until he’s lightheaded, staring past your head at the ceiling. You weakly grind against his cock and he realizes he’s practically stopped moving, body only moving because of the stim being force through his veins like adrenaline.

“Oc,” you huff out, turning to press your brow against his throat. He can feel his pulse hammering in his jugular and he can’t tell if it’s because of the stim or because of you. “Please.”

Octavio abruptly sits up beneath you. His hands wrap tight around your waist, lips placing wet, open mouthed kisses along your collarbones.

“Te amo,” he murmurs into your skin, lowly, like maybe you won’t hear him if he speaks quietly enough. Recognition flashes in your face. The arms of your dress slide back up your shoulders as you suddenly wrap your arms around his shoulders You use him for leverage to lift yourself up and down his cock, your wet cunt squeezing, hugging. Sloppy noises make their way out and he vaguely recognizes that his pants are going to be ruined.

“Say it so I can understand you,” you demand and he’s helpless, a slave to your desires, every sweet roll of your hips sending bolts of lightening through his gut. He grunts, fingers digging into your lower back.

“Fuck,” he hisses and you twist your head, biting into his throat. He moans, the noise low, strangled, drawn out as you continue to raise and drop your hips, only moving part way up his dick as you do. “Fuck, fuck, baby, porfa, I need-”

“Say it!” You gasp, the friction of his pubic bone against your clit sending you into a frenzy, making you use your grip on his shoulders to raise yourself up higher, until only the tip is inside. Your thighs work to keep you up but you slam back down and Octavio shudders.

“I love you,” he finally whispers, and you turn your head into his hair, wailing near his ear. He whimpers at the noise, trying to roll up. In this position, though, he’s at your mercy, and you fuck yourself onto him once, twice, three more times until you’re shaking into a wetter, softer orgasm.

He hisses at the sensation, at how your cunt clutches him, trying to keep him inside even as you continue to drag your body along his dick. He presses his face to the space between your breasts, smelling your sweat, and your perfume, and he pulls you all the way down so you’re sitting on the very base of his cock, rocking you along it. Almost there, right there, yes, mierda, so good…

“Fuck,” he hisses out loud as he cums. It’s weaker than the one in the ship, little spurts gushing out of him instead of erupting. He keeps his forehead on your chest, catching his breath, your cheek resting on top of his head as you do the same.

“So…” you say, softly, and your voice is hoarse, even though you hadn’t been doing a whole lot of noise making. Shame flushes through Octavio, the last of the stim ebbing from his system. He’ll need to get his dialysis machine to wash away the shreds of it but he can’t focus on that, can’t focus on anything but what he _said_ to you.

“Yeah, sorry,” he says, grabbing your hips, trying to push you off. You clutch him tighter and your fingers cup his chin. You bring his gaze up to yours and his breath hitches at the way you look at him, at that soft, gentle look that he wanted you to give him forever.

“I love you too.” You say. The world freezes. The noise from downstairs fogs out of his ears, the wet, sticky sensation of you on top of him gone as he stares up at you. You, who has been here for him this whole night, who started off as a hook up.

He moves quicker than lightening, quicker than he’s ever moved, yanking you into a kiss. Your lips move together, hurried, passionate, making up for all the time he didn’t know. He pulls away, lips making a wet, popping sound.

“I could listen to you say that all day,” he huffs out. You giggle and he holds you tightly to his chest for a long, perfect minute, your fingers carding through his short hair.

Octavio hurtles back onto the bed, arms flopping above his head and you snort, still sitting in his lap, his dick inside of you. You don’t seem in a hurry to get it out though. Octavio strokes your thigh. “I really wish you would’ve told me that before this. I could’ve come as your girlfriend.”

Octavio’s lips twitch up in a little smile and he reaches up, placing a hand on your cheek. You make a face at the sweat there, but you don’t move away, your eyes a little softer, a little more open than he’s seen them before.

“You could’ve told me. Ever thought of that, chica?” Octavio asks. He throws his head back, laughing when you lean away from him, climbing off his lap to flop next to him in bed. You loop an arm around his shoulders, interlocking your fingers and nestling against the one closer to you.

“You’re insufferable,” you say, and he kisses the top of your head, humming.

“You love me.”

“I do. I do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Te adoro - I adore you.   
> Eres en mi vida todo mi tesoro - You are all the treasure in my life.   
> Quiero decirte - I want to tell you.   
> No quiero perderte - I don't want to lose you.

**Author's Note:**

> acompáñame a ver esta triste historia -- a Spanish meme. Direct translation is accompany me to look at this sad story.


End file.
